


Family Values

by SpookMouse (carinacove)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Meet the Family, a little bit of trashy bareback kink oh god I'm sorry (I'm not sorry)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7086976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carinacove/pseuds/SpookMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your dad?</p><p>I am a 28 year old felon with no high school degree, and a dirty old van one year younger than me painted like Eddie Van Halen’s guitar. I can play anywhere between the ages of 20 and 29 depending on if I shave. I’m a line cook and work late nights at a bar. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.”</p><p>Or, Hux brings Kylo home for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art by [Omano](http://archiveofourown.org/users/omano)!
> 
> prompt borrowed from/inspired by [this](http://withthingsunreal.tumblr.com/image/118505323187). though, full disclosure, there are no craigslist posts involved in this story.

“You will put in an appearance, naturally,” his father says, and Hux grits his teeth to bite back the automatic ‘ _like hell_.’ Conversing with his father is always a refreshing reminder of the importance of suppressing his first thoughts. “If you intend to bring a guest, your mother will wish to be informed. Particularly if they will require assistance obtaining appropriate attire.”

It’s possible he’s actually overdue for some time with his parents, given the difficulty he’s having in keeping himself in check. He manages a successfully bland, “Of course, Father,” but can’t quite resist adding, “I’m certain his suit will be to Mother’s standards,” leaning ever-so-slightly on _his_. Petty, perhaps, but undeniably satisfying when he hears his father’s slow, careful exhale.

So it’s his own fault, he realises once he’s ended the call, that he can’t possibly talk Phasma into accompanying him now, not when he’s already made a point of emphasising the masculinity of his imaginary paramour.

To Hux’s complete lack of surprise, she has no sympathy whatsoever. “I don’t know why you bothered trying to get a rise out of him in the first place. Hasn’t the scandal of your orientation worn off by now?” Hux merely grunts in response; it has, and it hasn’t. It isn’t news, but he knows that it will never cease to make his father cringe somewhere deep in his shriveled black heart. And Hux takes his victories where he can.

Phasma hums vaguely, leans back to sip her scotch and stare out the window in the way that means she’s working out a plan of action. It’s a promising posture, and Hux waits as patiently as possible, nursing his own whiskey ginger for a full two minutes before finally bursting out with, “Well?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, a mild scold, but sits forward again anyway. “If the aim is their disapproval,” she says, “you'll need to think bigger.” Hux shakes his head slightly, not quite sure where this is leading. Rather than answer, Phasma tips her chin, indicating something behind him. 

They're at The Woods, an establishment which more than makes up for its proximity to the campus by serving exceptional liquor. The prices also tend to keep the undergrads away, providing a quite agreeable atmosphere. 

The staff, however, occasionally leave something to be desired. 

It doesn’t take much to tend bar, Hux supposes. A basic ability to mix liquids with other liquids and occasionally apply a garnish of some sort. Still, the fact that the man behind the bar is considered capable of these tasks is a bit beyond belief. Possibly he was simply hired with the thought that his brooding presence might add to the ambiance.

Hux spares the man a glance, and receives a brief scowl for his trouble. His impression of a sulky teenager waiting for his parents to pick him up from the mall is depressingly flawless. Hux may pride himself on pretension, but whatever hipster fad bullshit marks this type of attitude as fashionable is beyond him. He looks back at Phasma, bemused.

She smirks at him, and says nothing.

The penny drops, though slowly, because Hux is doing his best to resist it. She can’t possibly - he looks back at the bar again, at the (alright, admittedly somewhat attractive in a tall, broad-shouldered sort of way) lurking man-child who serves their drinks.

“You cannot,” he says at last, “possibly be serious.”

Phasma has an impressively evil grin, of which Hux has always been jealous. It makes her look like a Disney villain. His own grin apparently tends to make him look boyish, even when he’s feeling murderous, so he’s perfected a resting bitch face instead.

“Do you really think your father anticipates the worst of you? You know he only talks to you like that to keep you in line. In fact,” she points at him to mark her emphasis, “he probably doesn’t believe you’ll bring anyone home at all, much less someone that might actually embarrass them.” And she punctuates her conversational victory by tossing back the last of her drink.

It’s not that she’s wrong, but -

He looks at the bar again.

Tall and broad, true. Perpetually surly expression. An excessive number of tattoos, hair too long and constantly falling forward to obscure his dark eyes. Hm. “Another scotch?”

“Please,” Phasma says sweetly, and he doesn’t need to look at her to feel the smugness radiating.

At a closer look, the bartender has something very soft about him. The lips, yes, obviously, but also something overall in his expression, a sort of infirmity or indecision that makes him look like he’s torn between standing his ground and hiding his face. When his eyes meet Hux’s, they’re almost embarrassingly expressive. Hux takes a seat at the bar, a few feet away from the other patrons; he doesn’t care for the idea of his conversation being overheard.

“Whiskey ginger?” the bartender asks, perfunctorily: he’s already started making it. Hux lets their fingers brush as he takes the glass, watches with interest the way it makes the man’s gaze dip to their hands and then quickly back to meet Hux’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Hux says, maintaining eye contact as he takes a sip. 

Further down the bar, someone clears their throat, drums their knuckles against the wood. “In a minute,” the bartender says, still not looking away from Hux. He’s very intense, though he does have a terrible poker face. His lashes are ridiculously thick. Hux licks his lower lip, lets himself smile as the man’s gaze tracks the movement.

He can imagine himself kissing that face, idiotic neck tattoo and all. This might not actually be the worst idea Phasma has ever had. Maybe he’ll even tell her as much, at some point.

“I’m Kylo,” the man says, which: no, he probably isn’t. But Hux can understand an aversion to using one’s given name.

“Hux,” he answers, and puts his hand out to shake. Kylo’s hand is warm and calloused, larger than his own, and his grip lingers for just a moment too long before he steps back.

Kylo repeats, “Hux,” very softly, and Hux finds himself abruptly and unduly charmed. “I’ll be back,” he adds, taking another step backwards without looking away. “Don’t leave yet.”

 _‘Oh,_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _I really, really won’t.’_

Out of the corner of his eye he catches Phasma gesturing, and dismisses her double thumbs up with a two-fingered salute. She is a terrible best friend and he’s honestly not sure why he ever chooses to spend time with her.

Now that he’s officially given himself permission to ogle, he can’t help but notice how ridiculously fit Kylo actually is. It’s probably the reason he was hired in the first place. There’s no uniform at The Woods, so he’s just wearing a black cotton shirt, long sleeves pushed up to bare his forearms. His tattoos, though numerous, are all in black, with sparse accents of red. It’s definitely not the worst possible look.

Kylo catches him looking, gives him a flash of a smile half-hidden by his curtain of hair. There’s so little artifice to him; he’s probably terrible at deception. Which might work out well, as Hux’s family has never had any difficulty in bringing out the worst in people. Not to mention that it’s… rather sweet, really.

It’s a bit of a wait before Kylo comes back to him. There aren’t too many other people in the bar, but at least three others that Hux has noticed are intent on flirting with Kylo shamelessly. To Hux’s amusement, Kylo is not at all subtle in his disinterest. 

“How lucky I am,” Hux says as Kylo finally returns, “to not have earned such ire.” Kylo leans against the bar, slightly closer into Hux’s personal space than would usually be comfortable. He doesn’t, somewhat surprisingly, smell at all of Axe body spray.

“I’ve been watching you,” Kylo tells him, voice low, intense, entirely guileless. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me. So proper, all the time. Your nice suits and expensive drinks.” His hand hovers over Hux’s for a moment, thumb brushing once over his knuckles. “What made you come over tonight?”

Hux drags idle patterns through the condensation on his glass, watching Kylo through his lashes. “I had a question for you,” he says, and Kylo makes an interested noise, tips his head a little closer. “What are you doing for the holidays?”

That actually startles a laugh out of Kylo, though only a brief one, once he realises Hux is serious. “Nothing, I guess.” He blinks a little, props his elbows on the edge of the bar and folds his arms. “You know, that’s really not the conversation I thought we were going to have.” But he’s smirking a little, still interested, open to it.

“Well…” And Hux can’t quite help himself, he reaches out, touches the edge of Kylo’s jaw. “I wondered if you might like to accompany me to my family’s embarrassingly lavish Christmas soirée. The pros,” he continues before Kylo can voice the _‘what the fuck’_ clearly written on his face, “are the obvious pleasure of my company, an obscene amount of expensive food and drink, and a free trip to New York.”

“And the cons?” Kylo says, not pulling away from Hux’s thumb as it brushes his lower lip.

“You have to deal with my family.” Kylo laughs again, softer, and Hux can’t help but grin. “It’s more than penance enough, I assure you.”

Kylo leans a little closer, so that they’re nearly nose-to-nose. Hux could kiss him right now, and get his answer there. “And why me?” Hux lets his fingers drift down to touch the edges of outstretched ink wings on Kylo’s throat, and it gets him a smile that’s positively feral. “The family disappointment, hm?”

Hux lets himself steal that extra inch, presses his lips to the corner of Kylo’s. “It’s one reason of many.” And then he makes himself pull away, stands and takes out a business card and a pen. “I’ve got to leave in the morning. If you’re interested,” he finishes writing in his home address, and offers the card out, “I’ll see you at 9.”

There’s a smile curling the corner of Kylo’s mouth as he reaches out to take Hux’s card. “I guess I’ll just take it on faith that you’re not a serial killer.” Hux opens his mouth to answer, though he’s no idea how, but Kylo waves him off. “I’m pretty sure I could take you, anyway. It was good to meet you, Hux.”

He’s half-tempted to argue that he could absolutely kill Kylo if he wanted to, but he suspects that might not leave the best impression. So instead he says only, “And you as well,” before turning away to return to Phasma.

“And my scotch?” she says, arch, that stupid evil smirk still firmly in place.

“At mine, I think,” he answers, and offers her his arm.


	2. Chapter 2

Mornings are really when Phasma shows her true value as a friend. By the time Hux drags himself into the kitchen, she’s already been for a run, showered, fed Millicent, and brewed a pot of coffee. 

Hux hunches himself gratefully over a mug, still making grumbling noises to himself as he sips. “Have you given any thought to my offer to support you indefinitely as my kept woman?”

Phasma snickers as she takes the seat across from him. “And what would your darling husband have to say about that?”

“If he likes coffee, I can’t imagine he’d object.” He rests his forehead on the edge of the table, eyes still closed. After a moment, he can’t quite contain his whinge any longer. “I don’t _want_ to see my family.” Phasma laughs at him, because of course she does. “I don’t,” he says again, petulant, and not even Millicent hopping up into his lap makes him feel any better about it.

“Diddums,” Phasma says, and reaches over to ruffle his hair. She shares half of her bagel, though, so she clearly does feel at least somewhat sorry for him.

It’s been two years since Hux last saw his parents, and he’d really been hoping to push it further. A decade or two, maybe. He lets himself wallow in self-pity a little longer, chewing morosely on his bagel and petting Millicent’s ears while she purrs. Maybe it’ll be easier, he thinks, having someone with him. He might not actually know Kylo at all, but he’s not a Hux, and that’s enough of a point in his favour.

Assuming Kylo shows up, of course.

Hux deposits Millicent into Phasma’s lap and gets up to face the day.

Thirty minutes later he's showered, shaved, and suited, which makes him feel at least slightly more ready to accept his fate. Although perhaps he should consider a change of style for the next few days; he might not be able to pull off Kylo’s lord of the emo teenagers look but he could certainly manage something that would appall his parents.

He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, considering it.

Except that it probably wouldn’t make any noticeable difference in his father’s level of disdain. And he likes wearing suits, his suits are his armour; he knows it’s stupid, and weak, but he’s more comfortable in something well-tailored. It gives him a little extra confidence, as ridiculous as he knows that to be. 

“Ugh,” he says to himself, fighting back the anxiety starting to twist his stomach, and goes to steal a cigarette from Phasma.

“Smoke around them,” she suggests, offering him the whole packet. It wouldn’t help, though, he knows. Petty rebellion against his parents has never worked for him. It needs to be big or nothing; they won’t even give him the satisfaction of reacting to something small. He allows himself the brief weakness of kissing the top of her head, then steps outside to smoke.

There’s a hunched, familiar figure sitting at the bottom of the steps leading up to his flat.

Hux pauses in the doorway, blinking a moment to be certain he’s actually seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. Then he lets the door fall shut loudly behind him and watches as Kylo jerks to his feet.

His expression flashes briefly through surprise and something like guilt, but quickly settles into something stubborn as he makes his way up the stairs. He looks a bit like he wants to fidget, or avoid Hux’s eyes, but won’t quite let himself. Again: slightly ridiculous, yet somehow endearing.

“You said 9,” Kylo says eventually, not quite an excuse or an apology but an answer all the same.

“I did,” Hux agrees, and looks down to hide the smile he can feel creeping up on him as he lights his cigarette. Something catches his eye, and he reaches out, takes Kylo’s hand and runs his thumb over the glossy black polish covering his nails. He tips his chin to look back up at Kylo, who’s watching him avidly, hungrily, and he lets himself grin. Phasma is a _genius_. “Hullo,” he adds.

Kylo responds “Hi,” seemingly on automatic, still fixated on watching him smoke, and after a moment Hux can’t quite resist the urge to lean in and press a kiss to the edge of that ridiculously lush mouth. Kylo chases when he starts to pull away, seeking another kiss, and Hux complies. It’s slow, tentative, _chaste_ ; Hux feels like he could honestly devour this bizarrely sweet, earnest, scowling contradiction of a man.

He also feels a little bit like he could conquer the world. There’s nothing so heady as the knowledge one is desired, he thinks, and gives Kylo’s plush lower lip a soft, brief bite before he steps away. “We’ve a plane to catch, I’m afraid,” he says in answer to Kylo’s dazed expression. And then he looks Kylo over again - the duffel bag at his side, the wholly insufficient hoodie he’s wearing - and adds, “You did hear me say New York?”

The perplexed way Kylo looks down at himself can’t actually dampen Hux’s mood, though it does make him sigh. Californians.

When they step back inside, Hux has about a half of a second to wonder - worry - what Kylo will make of the mundanity of his life, his flat full of bookshelves, his cat, the obsessive tidiness of his rarely-used spice rack. Before he can get any proper anxiety worked up, however, Phasma looks up from her magazine. Her eyebrows make an excellent effort to raise all the way to her hairline as she glances from Kylo, to the clock on the wall, to Hux, and back to Kylo.

“Hello,” she says, that evil purr that says she’s about to raise hell.

Part of Hux wants to stay and defend Kylo from Phasma’s (well-meaning, probably, but nevertheless brutal) best friend screening process. But if he can’t survive Phasma he certainly won’t survive Hux’s family; Phasma at least wants Kylo to be good enough. Besides, he still isn’t finished packing. He leaves Kylo to his fate and retreats back into his bedroom.

Somewhere at the back of his closet is a coat which he’d purchased for Phasma after dragging her off to Chicago for a surprise last-minute birthday celebration. She’d assured him that she never intended to go anywhere half so cold ever again unless it was in his company, and that therefore the coat was better off wasting space in his own closet. It is, Hux thinks, much more likely to fit Kylo than anything Hux has purchased for himself.

He bundles the grey wool peacoat and his own black trench over his arm, and goes to see how Kylo is faring.

“And how long have the two of you been seeing each other?” she’s asking as he walks in.

“Two years, I guess,” Kylo answers, prompt, casual, and looks over at Hux with a shy, adoring smile that seems wholly unforced. Hux stops mid-step, thrown. “I don’t really get what he sees in me but I’m trying not to jinx it or anything.”

Fucking hell.

Phasma focuses her attention on Hux, looking disgustingly pleased with herself. “Well, he’s always been exceptionally skilled at rationalising his behaviour. I’m certain he’d say he has his reasons for his interest in you.”

Hux nearly wants to applaud her masterful impression of his mother. “Don’t scare him out of it before I’ve got him on the plane, please.” He holds out the grey coat to Kylo, who gives it only a briefly dubious look before shrugging it on. It doesn’t particularly suit the gothic urchin fashion of the rest of his outfit, but it fits.

Kylo is still looking at him like he hung the fucking stars, and Hux is experiencing a bit of difficulty in not asking him to stop. There’s no one to perform for here, there’s no need for pretense; but he needs to get used to this, this needs to seem natural, so he squares his shoulders and smiles back, reaches up to fix Kylo’s collar.

“Very charming on you, my dear,” and Kylo actually stands a bit straighter, looking pleased. “I’ll see about getting you something more suited to you once we’re in the city, but it will do for now.” He touches his thumb to Kylo’s jaw, rubs against the scrape of stubble; Kylo must not have shaved this morning, which is, he thinks, a nice touch. He must have experience with being a deliberately provocative black sheep.

“Alright, children,” Phasma says, drawing their attention away from one another. 

Time to be leaving, Hux realises, and scoops up Millicent from her spot on the windowsill to kiss her goodbye. As an afterthought, he drops her into Kylo’s arms, where she sniffs at him curiously while he holds her as if she might explode unexpectedly. “This is Millicent. Millie. I’d imagine my sister, at least, will ask after her, and though her pretense at interest will most likely be veiled mockery it’d be best if you know what she means.” It also won’t hurt anything to have Kylo’s clothes covered in ginger and white cat fur, though he’s not going to bother verbalising that.

He checks his bag one last time, scanning his bedroom, bathroom, living room one by one. Phasma’s finally taken pity on Kylo and is helping him to get Millicent in her travel bag.

He could just not go, he thinks. Spend Christmas with Phasma and Una and not have to spend every fucking minute on his guard. Tell his parents he’s no intention of going near them ever again. Leave Brenna to handle things on her own.

“Shall we get on with it?” he says instead, and gives his flat one last wistful look before locking up behind them.

The ride to the airport is brief, but still long enough for him to think himself into anxiousness again. Phasma’s frowning at him a bit as she helps him get his bag from the boot of her car. “Chin up, boss,” she says, and he squares his shoulders and breathes deep.

“Happy Christmas,” he says, and she smiles at him and gives him a wholly unanticipated kiss to his forehead.

Then she turns to Kylo. “Take care of him,” Phasma tells him, severe; and Hux scoffs, because he doesn’t need anyone to _look after him_ , but Kylo nods seriously, mouth set and stubborn. Phasma nods back to him, and even goes so far as to offer him her hand, which he shakes solemnly. An odd dynamic, he thinks, but doesn’t bother to say anything because Phasma’s already stepping away. “Text me once you’re there!”

He gives her a small, mocking salute, and reaches out to take Kylo’s hand. Off to face their fate.


	3. Chapter 3

Negotiating airport security scales down Hux’s anxiety once more; the tedious routine of queueing for the opportunity to take off his shoes and have his privacy violated is irritating, but in a mundane sort of way that distracts from thoughts of his family. Beside him, Kylo is scanning the crowd, scowling at people who get too close, and generally seeming sulky and unapproachable. It’s honestly delightful.

Eventually, it occurs to Hux that Kylo is being so quiet because it’s apparently his turn to be anxious. He slips an arm around Kylo’s waist once they’re through the security gates; Kylo shoots him a surprised look but relaxes a little, allows Hux to guide him. “So two years, hm?” he asks, and feels a bit of the tension in Kylo’s spine loosen.

“That’s how long Phasma said it’s been since you’ve seen your parents.” He’s focused on Hux now, instead of the clamour and bustle around them.

“True,” Hux agrees thoughtfully, “but we might’ve already been seeing each other then. Call it three, perhaps.” He steers them easily towards their gate, negotiating the crowds with the ease of too much practice. “I’m not particularly forthcoming with my family, as you may’ve already gathered.”

Kylo snickers ungracefully. “I guessed, yeah.” They separate for long enough to board the plane, Kylo looking around the first class cabin skeptically as they take their seats. “So I should probably know, what’s your name?”

It genuinely takes Hux a moment to understand what he means, and he spends half a second looking at Kylo as if he’s lost his mind. But then: right. His given name. That is probably something a long-term boyfriend would know. “I’m - it’s. Tybalt,” he says, halting, reluctant, and quickly follows with, “And yours?”

“Kylo Ren,” he says stubbornly, and Hux just looks at him, because like _hell_ is he giving up his name without getting some form of collateral in return. After a moment, begrudgingly, Kylo adds, “Ben. But not anymore.” Hux nods, and Kylo nods back, the both of them solemn with the shared knowledge of how to piss each other off and the mutual unspoken promise not to use that knowledge.

Being seated and no longer surrounded by people doesn’t seem to have helped Kylo’s nerves at all; despite the distraction of conversation, he keeps peeking over Hux’s shoulder at the window and glancing around the cabin. “Not comfortable flying?” Hux guesses.

“I’m perfectly comfortable with flying,” Kylo answers, still turned away, trying to look towards the cockpit. “Other people doing the flying, though, not as much.” Hux reaches out to touch the back of his hand, and Kylo turns to him, smiles a little though it’s more like a grimace. “So three years, huh. How’d we meet?”

Hux allows the change of subject without comment, though with full intent to follow up later. “We still could’ve met at a bar.” It’s disreputable enough to suit their purposes, and mixing in some truth will make their weekend vastly less complicated. Still, it’s amusing enough to think about, and it seems Kylo could do with the distraction. “Maybe you were playing guitar on a street corner for change, and I took you in like a stray.” He can almost picture it, except for the fact that it would’ve had to involve him feeling some sympathy towards a stranger.

Kylo seems to be thinking the same thing, based on the amused look he’s giving Hux. “Maybe you got in a fight and I stepped in to help.” Hux can only snort at that, the very idea of him being involved in anything so crass as a _physical altercation_. “Or I was riding my bike and you accidentally sideswiped me in your car, so you had to take care of me.”

“I don’t drive,” Hux says, never mind the further levels of inanity involved in that idea. But Kylo looks like he’s relaxing somewhat, up until the plane begins taxiing. Then he starts looking as if he’d like to make a run for the exit. “Perhaps we met in a club,” Hux suggests, just to get Kylo to look at him again. “You were tied to a table, I had a paddle, our eyes met and the rest was history.”

It startles Kylo into a laugh, at least; he also ducks his head, not quite succeeding at hiding his immediate flush. Hux files that away for later inspection as well. “Or maybe I was a Mormon missionary who came to your door, and you wound up seducing me.” That gets Hux laughing, which makes Kylo grin. “Or you were getting your dick pierced when I was getting a tattoo.” He laughs harder; the way Kylo watches him is devastatingly good for his ego. “Can I kiss you?” Kylo asks abruptly, and Hux bites back his laughter but can’t stop his grin.

“You don’t have to ask.” He leans in closer, touches the corner of Kylo’s jaw to draw him in, and then Kylo sinks both hands into his carefully-styled hair and drags him forward. 

Hux’s noise of surprise is swallowed up the ferocity of Kylo's kiss. He kisses Hux like he's trying to win something, and Hux is nearly tempted to let him: to give in for a moment and let Kylo do as he will. He’s clearly got a plan, after all.

But Hux would hardly be himself if he allowed anyone around him an easy victory.

They bite at each other between kisses, Hux finally giving in to the urge to worry Kylo’s fat lower lip between his teeth and delighting in the half-stifled moan doing so elicits. When Hux pulls away, Kylo’s breathing hard, eyes blown wide and dark, already a little glazed, sex-stupid and open in a way that’s outrageously attractive. He really doesn’t do anything by half measures.

“Can I give you a hickey?” Kylo blurts before Hux can suggest that they stop, and honestly, that’s rather a spectacular idea. He can already imagine the way his mother’s face will freeze in poorly-disguised horror. They’re currently making a bit of a scene, he knows, but he reasons that a bit more couldn’t possibly make so much difference, so he nods and tips his chin up to give Kylo free rein.

He expects Kylo to dive in, but instead he hesitates; brushes his nose at the edge of Hux’s jaw, kisses soft below his ear. _Sweet_ , Hux finds himself thinking again, and winds his fingers through Kylo’s hair. Kylo’s mouth is hot against his skin, too-lush lips dragging in a slow tease that makes Hux curl his fingers tighter and yank at Kylo’s hair until Hux feels him shiver. Interesting. 

“Stop playing,” he orders, low, and Kylo shudders once more, then bites down on the sensitive skin below Hux’s ear. This time the pull at Kylo’s hair is reflexive, though the soft moan it draws from Kylo’s throat makes him do it again.

Hux doesn’t usually let himself indulge like this, and it’s a shockingly heady feeling. It’s more intimate than he usually allows with a casual dalliance, but he finds he’s enjoying it, the gentle, persistent pressure of teeth and suction and heat, the way Kylo seems to put all of his focus into staking his claim. He gives himself a few minutes to get lost in it, then pulls Kylo’s hair hard enough to ease him away.

Kylo nuzzles at him as he goes, kisses his cheek, his chin, sits back just enough to meet Hux’s eyes. “We’re not fucking on a plane,” Hux tells him firmly, and Kylo blinks a little and seems to come back to himself.

“No,” he says, sounding a little dazed. “No. I wouldn’t.” Hux is honestly inclined to believe him, based solely on the fact that the reminder of their current location has Kylo looking anxious again. Hux has a brief, bizarre urge to kiss his cheek, but ignores it.

“So for the sake of simplification,” he says instead, settling back into his seat, “let’s just say we met in a bar. I promise you, my family will be doing their best to make our visit difficult enough without needing to worry about keeping our story straight.”

They’re interrupted by a flight attendant stopping by to offer them drinks; Kylo, somewhat to Hux’s surprise, orders soda water and nothing more. He considers explaining that he can, in fact, order whatever he likes, but almost immediately decides that doing so is not at all worth his time. “Scotch and soda,” he says instead, and then glares when the attendant lingers for a moment, none-too-subtly looking Kylo over.

Kylo doesn’t seem to notice the attention, focused instead on shredding his paper napkin into pieces. “You’re an engineer, right?” he asks with an abruptness that makes Hux blink. “I’ve overheard some of what you and Phasma talk about. And I know you work for Imperial Solutions, and it seems like you’ve got money.” He shrugs a little, still not looking up.

And really, Hux doesn’t particularly like talking about himself. But if they’re to be convincing, there’s plenty Kylo will need to know; and if it helps distract him, well, so much the better, Hux supposes.

It’s a largely one-sided conversation, with Kylo occasionally asking things or prompting elaboration but offering up little of himself. Hux does manage to discover that he’s a philosophy major, however: an unexpected delight. “Please find some way to work that into casual conversation if at all possible,” he says, barely keeping his grin in check. “My father will be _appalled_.”

He also learns that Kylo gets very still and quiet when he’s anxious and unhappy, as he is for the majority of the flight, and that he’s incredibly passionate about music. Passionate in general terms, really; the few times Hux is able to get Kylo to speak about himself, there’s an intensity to him which entirely displaces his nerves. He certainly does nothing by halves.

Hux’s own nerves begin to return almost immediately after they disembark, but Kylo seems to be simultaneously regaining his confidence now that they’re back down to earth. He reaches out, engulfs Hux’s hand in his own ridiculously large one, and Hux feels his stomach untwist as he allows Kylo to negotiate their way through the crowds.

Once outside the brief walk to the taxi stand already has Kylo shivering, though he presumably doesn’t want Hux to know it judging by the way he’s hunching his shoulders in and hiding his free hand in his pocket. Honestly, _Californians_. “Aether. Soho,” Hux tells their driver, and Kylo gives him a questioning look but doesn’t actually ask, so Hux doesn’t bother to answer.

He’d given Phasma a slate cashmere beanie to match the grey peacoat, and a deep red scarf to contrast. But Phasma’s pale, with her cool blue eyes and platinum hair; Kylo, he thinks, is really better suited to black, though a touch of red should still work well.

Beside him, Kylo is watching the city pass by with interest. “We could take some time to ourselves, if you’d like,” he offers, and feels a bit stupid for it until Kylo turns to him with a smile.

“That’d be nice,” Kylo says. “I came with my parents when I was a kid but I don’t really remember anything. I mean, I don’t need to do the tourist stuff but it’d be cool to see the city with you.” He turns back to the window, and Hux firmly shoves down the stupid flutter in his stomach. This is all normal, and fine. Everything is going to be fine. And he has complete control over the situation.

Right.


	4. Chapter 4

Kylo looks bemused as hell when they reach their destination, hanging back by the cab until Hux takes his hand and physically drags him into the shop. “Do you think I can’t tell you’re freezing?” Hux demands, and Kylo looks down at his feet but doesn’t answer. He does, however, twine his fingers with Hux’s and let himself be led.

Hux, as ever, has a clear idea of precisely the things he wants. He breezes through the store easily, draping his finds over Kylo’s arm. Black cashmere hooded sweater, black quilted jacket lined in red, black circle scarf. “I do wear other colours sometimes,” Kylo says, sounding amused, and Hux hums vaguely in response. Kylo squeezes his hand, their fingers still linked together, and Hux adds a red henley to the pile.

“No,” Kylo says once they’re at the till, and Hux ignores him. “Hux -” Hux gives him a look which should adequately convey _what the hell is your problem_ as he slides his card in the chip and pin machine. “You can’t buy me all of this.”

“I think you’ll find I can.” He takes the bag from the clerk and passes it over to Kylo, who’s looking rather charmingly red around the ears. “Call it a Christmas gift,” he says, and nudges Kylo towards the door.

It’s late afternoon in Manhattan; walking would almost certainly be faster. But Hux isn’t in any particular rush, and the cab has been waiting. “Shall we get something to eat? Mother and Brenna have probably already drank their dinner by now, and I’m fairly certain Father subsists on spite, so I wouldn’t expect a meal to be waiting at home.”

He lets Kylo find them a restaurant via some app or other, and is pleasantly surprised by the result. As they eat, Kylo eyes him speculatively. “So if we’ve been together three years, shouldn’t I have gotten you to relax a little by now?”

Hux bristles instinctively at the suggestion that he might ever need to _calm down_ , but he supposes Kylo may have something approaching a point. “What would you suggest?”

The cab is still waiting outside; after a minute of playing with his phone, Kylo has a destination to offer, and then it’s Hux’s turn to balk. “I don’t believe this is necessary.”

Kylo wraps a ridiculously large hand around his wrist and all but drags him into the shop. “You can handle ten minutes of this.”

In fairness it’s not nearly so bad as Hux had anticipated from a name like _Yellow Rat Bastard_ , but it’s possible that he spends most of the time in the shop slightly distracted by how happy Kylo seems. It’s the most relaxed Hux has seen him thus far, and Kylo even grins at him as he holds up a tee shirt. “It’s cool, right?”

“Yes,” Hux agrees, though he honestly doesn’t have much of an opinion at all.

Twenty minutes later they’re headed towards the till, when Kylo stops and points out one of the clerks, a gangly teenager wearing a battered pair of red Converse trainers. “Those are _classic_ , they’d look great with your suits. You should get a pair.”

Hux eyes the shoes dubiously; they’re scuffed and worn, made of _canvas_ , and appallingly loud.

He looks Kylo over again, then back at the shoes. Well.

“Any pair you’d like,” he tells the boy, once they’ve established that he and Hux wear the same shoe size. “In fact, as it’s Christmas, make it two.” Kylo’s watching with something like disbelief; Hux simply shrugs. “A worn-in pair will look more believable than something straight off the shelf, anyway.”

The trainers, once the transaction is complete, go into a box; Hux is hardly going to put them straight on when they’ve just been on some sweaty youth’s feet. But Kylo has a point, he thinks as they return to the cab, it _will_ help to lend some credibility to their story.

Before he can say anything to the driver, Kylo takes his hand. “You’re stalling,” he says, low. “Letting yourself be distracted to prolong the inevitable. It’s better to get it over with.” Hux huffs, once, but doesn’t argue.

Thirty minutes later they’re at the door of his parents’ home, and Hux’s stomach feels like it’s trying to curl in on itself.

He looks Kylo over once more, straightens his scarf and resists the urge to further muss his hair. “Please feel free to be as surly and impersonable as you like,” he says, and steels himself before finally pressing the doorbell. “My parents certainly won’t be pulling their punches with you. Should you feel the urge to start a physical fight with my father, I won’t deter you, but I will mention that he has a vicious left hook but a bad knee.”

Kylo is half-smiling at him, and Hux doesn’t have the heart to emphasise how very much he means every word. He’ll learn soon enough.

“Oh, are you actually here?” his sister says as she opens the door. “I thought you’d be worming your way out over the phone any moment now.”

“Hullo, Brenna,” he says flatly, kisses her cheek as he walks past. “I see you haven’t pickled yourself alive yet.”

She smiles at him, just a curl of her lips which shows no teeth and doesn’t touch her eyes. “Not quite yet, no.” And then she turns her attention to Kylo, both eyebrows raising in an uncommonly demonstrative expression of surprise, gaze lingering on his tattoos, the painted nails, the long hair. “You actually brought someone home, or is this some sort of charity case you’ve undertaken?”

“Play nice,” Hux warns, and takes Kylo’s hand. And then hesitates, because he suddenly realises he’s no idea how to actually introduce him, what to call him. _This is Kylo, my… partner? Boyfriend?_ He dislikes the term boyfriend, but -

“I’m Kylo,” he says, interrupting Hux’s thoughts and offering his hand to Brenna. “Hux’s boyfriend.” Well, it sounds alright coming from him. Kylo smirks at him as though he can guess what Hux had been thinking, but the sting of the tease is immediately driven away by Kylo using his grip on Hux’s hand to draw it up to his lips, brushing a kiss over his knuckles. “He hates that word, though.”

“It’s juvenile,” Hux answers on automatic, and Kylo grins.

Brenna looks at him as though he’s grown a second head, but at least she doesn’t seem to be doubting their veracity. “No one has ever accused you of being juvenile, Ty. Well, you might as well come in if you’re here.” She leads the way to the stairs, points towards the kitchen as they pass it. “Mother,” she says, “and Father is in his study.”

Hux leads Kylo to his bedroom first, not ready to subject him to either of the elder Huxes and definitely not ready to deal with them himself. “My bedroom’s unchanged since I was fourteen,” he says as they climb the stairs, “and I don’t want to hear about it.”

Kylo’s look as they walk into his room says plenty, though. Hux drops his suitcase onto the chest at the foot of his bed, ignoring the way Kylo’s snooping through his dresser and closet. He disappears into the toilet, reappears a minute later and begins poking through the nightstand instead.

“ _What,_ ” Hux snaps at last.

“Are you actually a serial killer or something?” Kylo asks, and Hux glares. “Seriously this is the most boring room I’ve ever - since you were _fourteen_?”

There’s no point in attempting to explain himself, so Hux just says, “Yes.”

But Kylo has seen Hux’s home, only a few hours previously, and after a moment he seems to work it out for himself, or at least he lets it go. “Okay,” he says, and Hux feels some of the tension in his shoulders drop.

Hux leaves Kylo in the living room with Brenna; she’s reading, and Kylo seems content enough to fuck about on his mobile while Hux faces his father.

The walk down the hall might as well be a walk back in time. The carpet under his feet unchanged, the door to his father’s study. The sound of his father’s voice, answering, “Come,” at Hux’s knock.

He steps inside, closes the door behind himself with the habit of too many years. His father - hell, but Hux hates him - continues whatever it is that he’s doing, letting Hux wait without bothering to look up. It’s a petty power-play with which Hux is all too familiar; he grits his teeth, clasps his hands behind his back, and waits.

It’s less than five minutes before his father acknowledges him, but Hux has already fallen into his old routine of letting his mind detach from the situation. It leaves him with a satisfyingly blank expression which gives nothing of his thoughts away.

“Tybalt,” his father says curtly, as close to a greeting as Hux is likely to receive, and he gives his father a nod in response. “If you’re to attend, I trust you do not intend your pride to interfere with propriety.”

“Sir,” Hux says, the furthest he’s willing to go towards agreement. 

Commandant Hux eyes him critically, stands in order to walk a circle around him. “I must imagine the luxury of tailoring is at a premium in California. Not living beyond your means, I’m sure?”

Hux refuses to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him flush; he regulates his breathing carefully, answers “No, sir,” in a flat, even tone.

His father stops in front of him, looks him up and down once more, then turns away. “Your mother will no doubt wish to see you,” he says, and Hux is summarily dismissed.

When he returns to the living room, he finds his mother already present, a faintly glazed look which might be due to alcohol, or possibly simply the effort of trying to keep a neutral expression when faced with Kylo. The thought does manage to improve Hux’s mood ever-so-slightly.

And then the way his mother’s already-false smile freezes as she spots the livid purple bruise on Hux’s neck is everything he could have possibly wanted. “Mother,” he greets, suppressing a grin, and brushes his cheek against hers in an imitation of a kiss. “I see you’ve met Kylo.”

“Such an interesting find, my dear,” she answers, looking vaguely in Kylo’s direction while managing to avoid actually acknowledging him. “I’m sure we’d all be fascinated to know what led to that particular match.” Beside him, Kylo reaches out to take his hand, brushes his thumb over Hux’s wrist; his mother’s eyes flick to the movement, then back up again. “But perhaps we can discuss it over breakfast in the morning. I believe I ought to be in bed.”

Hux isn’t looking to actually give her a heart attack, so he simply says, “Certainly, Mother,” and brushes his cheek against hers once more.

“It was nice to meet you, Alexandra,” Kylo says, sweet as can be, and Hux has to actually bite his lip to keep from laughing at the pinched, lemon-bite face his mother makes. “We should crash, too, Hux,” he adds, and Hux lets himself be led from the room before he can spoil everything by laughing in his mother’s face.

Once behind closed doors, though, he lets himself laugh, properly laugh, the way he usually doesn’t around others because it seems too much like weakness. “Their _faces_ ,” Hux says, delighted, and Kylo grins at him.

“Happy to help. Remind me to walk you through the passive-aggressive use of music sometime.” He’s unzipping his bag as he talks, and Hux goes to do the same.

He’s exhausted, he realises suddenly; the day of travel and shopping finally catching up with him. “I’ll have a shower first,” he says, and glances up to see Kylo’s already pulled off his shirt.

Lord, but he’s _fit_. Hux manages to resist the urge to reach out and touch his ridiculously defined abdominal muscles, though he can’t quite stop himself from staring. Kylo’s rather thoroughly covered in tattoos, spiraling down his sides and curled around his arms and trailing tantalisingly below the waistband of his jeans.

When he finally yanks his gaze back up to Kylo’s face, he’s met with a smirk. “Shut up,” Hux orders, and turns on his heel, slamming the door to the toilet behind himself.

The hot shower leaves him feeling loose and relaxed, the tension of the day washing away and leaving nothing but weariness behind. He feels a bit as though he’s won something, being able to come home like this; he isn’t ending the day feeling worn down or worthless, so it’s certainly an improvement over his last visit home.

And, he notices when he steps back into the bedroom, Kylo most definitely finds him attractive. He’s so busy staring at Hux’s hips, bared by the low-slung waist of his pyjamas, that he doesn’t even notice Hux taking the opportunity to study his tattoos again. Most of them are art, a quote or two - and _Semper Fidelis_ across his shoulder blade. Hm.

Kylo’s blushing again when he jerks his gaze away; with his shirt off, Hux can admire the way his blush spreads down over his chest as well. He looks delightfully unsure of himself, eying first Hux and then the bed.

“This side is mine,” Hux says, taking pity on him, and climbs under the duvet. He groans a little as soon as his head hits the pillow, burrows a bit into the comfort of the bed. Kylo, he realises after a moment, is still hesitating, standing beside the bed awkwardly. “Well, come on,” Hux orders, and reaches out to pull the other side of the duvet down in invitation.

It seems to do the trick: Kylo gets under the covers, settles onto his own pillow with his arms crossed on his stomach.

It can’t, Hux thinks, possibly be a position comfortable enough to sleep in; but then, that’s Kylo’s problem to deal with, and not his own.

Hux closes his eyes, and sleeps.


	5. Chapter 5

He wakes up warm, an arm wrapped snug around his waist and his back pressed to someone’s chest. Kylo’s chest. He’s hazy from the jetlag; the sun streaming through the windows indicates that it’s morning, but his internal clock disagrees. Hux squirms a little, settles again, comfortably drowsy and half-hard.

It occurs to Hux after a moment that Kylo is awake: he’s carefully angling his hips - and, presumably, his morning wood - away from Hux’s ass. Rather adorably polite of him, though wholly unnecessary. Hux shifts again, pushes back enough to deliberately rub against Kylo’s dick. _Fuck_ , he feels big, and the way he gasps and pushes forward immediately says excellent things about the way his open nature will translate to sex.

Kylo only rubs against him for a moment, though, before pulling himself away and out of bed. “I’m, um,” he says, voice gone even lower with half-asleep gravel and his cheeks flushed pink. He gives up on trying to explain himself and disappears into the ensuite.

Hux gives him a few minutes of privacy, letting himself drift in the warmth under the duvet for a little while longer before he drags himself up as well. Kylo’s brushing his teeth as Hux walks in, and he darts his eyes up to meet Hux’s gaze in the mirror before looking down, blushing again. It’s disgustingly sweet, but Hux is sleepy and benevolent enough to find it endearing. When he returns to the sink to wash his hands, Kylo is rinsing out his mouth, and Hux gives in to the sudden urge to nip at the exposed nape of his neck. 

The noise Kylo makes is thoroughly satisfying. “Get back in bed,” Hux says in his ear, and Kylo turns abruptly to kiss him, ridiculously large hands wrapping tight around Hux’s hips. Hux laughs, kisses back, lets himself be pushed up against the edge of the bathroom counter and then uses his position as leverage to get his legs around Kylo’s waist. “Bed,” Hux says again, and Kylo moans into his mouth.

“You’re so fucking _small_ ,” Kylo says as he hauls Hux closer and carries him into the bedroom. Hux would probably be offended, if Kylo hadn’t sounded so thoroughly reverent about it, and if he wasn’t very thoroughly distracted just at the moment. “You hide it so well, but -” He presses his thumb into the dip of Hux’s hipbone, stares down between them at the way his hand spans a good portion of Hux’s waist. And, well, Hux certainly isn’t _small_ , he and Kylo are very nearly of a height, but proportionally speaking…

Kylo sets him onto the bed, and Hux lets himself fall back, holds his arms out invitingly as Kylo climbs over him and Hux really _isn’t_ small but fuck, Kylo is so _broad_ , those ridiculous shoulders and the way his arms bulge as he dips himself down to kiss Hux again. Hux fists both hands in Kylo’s hair and drags him in, licks into his mouth and bites at him until Kylo’s moaning. The bed’s still warm, and Hux scoots back up against the pillows, pulls Kylo with him and gets his feet back under the blankets. It makes Kylo laugh at him a little, but fuck it, his feet get cold.

“I didn’t think,” Kylo starts to say, and then cuts himself off, shakes his head and kisses him when Hux would’ve asked.

They rub up against each other, make out like teenagers and it’s so fucking _good_ , to have someone in this bed with him, to replace the memories of being seventeen and closeted and lonely with _this_ , Kylo warm against him, around him, so good that it makes him shiver a little and break away to just nose against Kylo’s jaw. It’s worth it to have brought Kylo along simply for this moment, the uncomplicated happiness and warmth of waking up in his parent’s home with someone in his bed. He wraps his arms around Kylo’s shoulders, pulls him down into something almost like a hug so that he can burrow into the warmth of his neck.

Kylo laughs softly against his hair, murmurs, “You’re like a cat,” rolls them sideways to pull Hux into his arms properly. Hux lets himself be pulled happily, squirms in closer and rubs his still-clothed cock up against Kylo’s. He does feel a bit like a cat, sun-warmed and languid, perfectly content. Kylo has ridiculous thighs, he realises, thick and muscled and absolutely perfect for straddling Hux and riding him until he’s sweat-sticky. But that’s a plan for another time, when he isn’t feeling quite so lazy.

A sudden knock at the door startles them both. “Get up, Ty, I’m not going to breakfast without you.”

“You go to breakfast without me all the ti -” he cuts himself off on a gasp as Kylo kisses his throat, tips his head back to give him more room. “Fuck off, Bren,” he finishes instead, and rolls his hips against Kylo’s to make him groan.

The knock on the door is louder this time, more of a pounding. “Tybalt, are you honestly _fucking_ right now? You do realise we’ve reservations in forty minutes!”

“Fuck _off_ , Brenna,” he says again, louder, and then rolls Kylo onto his back to straddle his hips.

They make themselves mostly presentable in time for breakfast; Hux suspects he has a few new bruises forming, and Kylo can’t seem to wipe the ridiculously smug smile off his face, but they are, at least, present. Hux’s parents seem to be doing their best to not acknowledge Kylo at all, and failing that they both do an excellent job of looking at him as though he’s something stuck to their shoes. It’s possible Hux is looking a bit smug himself, come to think of it.

Brenna takes a fastidious bite of her frittata, follows it with a rather large sip of mimosa. “So do please tell us, Ty, as I’m certain we’re all absolutely dying to know: whatever brought the two of you together?”

A mouthful of his own breakfast prevents Hux from replying immediately, though he does give her a good glare; before he can answer, however, Kylo speaks up.

“Well, I tend bar,” he says casually, “so I’d seen Hux around once or twice with Phasma but then this one night this guy starts being a real prick to him, like, just loud and obnoxious about it, telling Hux how hot he is and whatever, and Hux told the guy to fuck off but you know what assholes like that are like so he didn’t quit and finally Hux dumped a drink in his lap and walked away and when he came up to the bar to get another I told him it was on the house and asked if he wanted to maybe get dinner sometime or something and he said yeah and basically that was it.”

His family is gaping, but Hux can hardly enjoy it because he’s fairly certain that he’s doing so as well. For one, it’s the most he’s ever heard Kylo speak in one go, but more pertinently it’s also _true_ \- all save the bit where Kylo asked him out. It happened nearly a year ago, and Hux hadn’t even particularly remembered that Kylo had been the one behind the bar that night. 

Kylo’s smiling at him, clearly pleased with himself. As well he should be, really, because Hux’s family is certainly appalled, and Hux manages to get his own head out of his arse for long enough to appreciate that.

“Is there somewhere I can go for a run?” Kylo asks after breakfast, and Hux stares at him blankly. “I usually go earlier,” he adds, and then, “Maybe around three miles,” and finally just “Christ, _what_?”

Hux shakes his head in disbelief, disappointed in himself for not working it out sooner based on Kylo’s build alone. “You’re one of those people who gets up at the absolute crack of dawn just to go for a jog, aren’t you.” How does he keep _finding_ these people.

Kylo rolls his eyes ridiculously. “Whatever, Hux, can we go to a park or something or what?”

It was somewhat inevitable, Hux supposes, that they visit Central Park at some point; Kylo may say he has no interest in playing tourist, but Hux can see him eyeing every tchotchke-laden table they pass. When they stop at a newsstand - if Hux is going to sit on a bench in the park in _December_ , he’s going to get the largest coffee he can carry - he catches Kylo surreptitiously paying for a ridiculous plastic snow globe of the skyline. 

“It’s for my cousin,” Kylo says defensively, before Hux can do anything more than raise his eyebrows. His neck and ears flush when he’s embarrassed, Hux notes. Like so many things about him, it’s oddly charming.

He settles onto a bench with a stack of magazines, a ludicrously-sized coffee, and a dismissive wave of his hand. Kylo drops a quick, unexpected kiss to the top of his head - a sort of farewell, Hux supposes, because by the time he looks up in disbelief Kylo’s already taken off.

Thirty minutes later he’s cleared through the science and mechanics magazines, polished off his coffee, and is feeling rather good about the world. The crisp air feels good in his lungs, sharp air with enough humidity that he can smell the frost. Perhaps it’ll even snow before they leave. There are some things, he thinks as he picks up The New Yorker, that he misses about the city.

An article about Senator Organa catches his interest; his father hates her so of course, out of spite, Hux supports her.

It’s the photo that gives him pause.

‘Organa at the start of her rise to success,’ the caption reads. ‘During happier times with her husband, Han, and their son Ben. The duo’s often-tumultuous relationship has been the subject of much press speculation.’ 

The crooked jaw and oversized ears are unmistakable, though the expression on his face is less surly and more unhappy. 

He’s still gaping when Kylo trots up, breathing heavily and rubbing at his chest. “Is the air thinner here, or what? My lungs fucking hate me now.” Hux’s only response is to look up at him, still aghast, and then back to the photo. It’s even more obvious with Kylo in front of him. “What?” Kylo asks, sounding curious but not particularly interested.

Hux holds up the magazine, and if he’d had any doubts, they vanish at Kylo’s reaction. He goes pale, first, then a splotchy blush spreads its way across his neck. “So this _is_ you?” Not that Hux particularly needs the confirmation, not really, but he can’t help but say it out loud, unreasonably excited. It’s like - well, honestly, it’s like _Christmas_. “You’re actually Leia Organa’s son. My god. The Commandant _hates_ her, do you realise?” It’s possible he’s crowing a bit, but honestly, who could even blame him.

“Don’t,” Kylo says, strangled, and Hux pauses to look at him.

Kylo’s expression is pinched, almost stricken, and he’s looking rather pale. “Please don’t tell them,” he manages after a moment.

‘ _But my triumph_ ,’ Hux thinks, but doesn’t say. He stares at Kylo, then back at the photograph. There’s a similarly miserable expression on the Kylo before him and the Ben of ten years previous.

He folds the pages back to tear them out carefully, and drops them in the bin beside the bench without ceremony.

When he looks up again, Kylo is smiling at him, a soft expression on his face that makes Hux clear his throat and look away. Their silence is broken by the chiming of his phone. He glances at the screen, and accepts the call with a curt, “Yes?”

“Mother has a brief, small, ridiculous press thing for the dinner,” says Brenna in his ear, bossy as ever. “She’d like you to attend, though Kyle needn’t come along.”

“Of course _Kylo_ will be with me, he’s my -” He hesitates, stuck again, and half-chokes on the word. “Date… partner,” he manages eventually, and winces a little even as Kylo snickers at him.

“You’re such a romantic, how does he stand it,” Brenna says, dry, and then, “Anyway, it’s at the hotel at 3, if you’re late I’ll assume you’re dead in traffic. Turrah!” The line goes dead in his ear, and Hux makes a face at nothing and no one.

The moment has passed for him to ask, assuming it was ever there at all. For all of their ease with each other, he doesn’t actually know Kylo at all, and Kylo doesn’t owe him anything - certainly not answers or explanations he’s clearly disinclined to give.

So instead he sighs, “Once more unto the breach,” and tips his head in the direction of Fifth.


	6. Chapter 6

As Brenna had said, it’s a small event. Tasteful, even. His mother dotes on him in a way which is likely unrecognisable as false, and Hux allows it, plays along as appropriate. Kylo seems to be hanging back, and Hux’s first instinct is to drag him forward, force his mother to deal with his presence.

But then he recalls Senator Organa, and how uncomfortable a younger Kylo - Ben - had looked under the scrutiny of the cameras.

“Kylo,” he calls as the photographer begins rearranging lights and chairs. The look Kylo gives him is wary, which Hux supposes is fair enough, given the circumstances. But when he says, “Didn’t you say you wanted to see the MoMA?” Kylo’s shoulders relax immediately, and he favours Hux with a small, genuine grin.

Once Kylo has left - giving him a showy kiss goodbye first, naturally - Brenna looks over at Hux with obvious distaste. “What has California _done_ to you,” she scoffs, still smiling sweetly for the camera.

The only answer Hux has for that is a shrug, and Brenna sniffs in distaste, says, “You’ve gone soft,” in the way others might say ‘You’ve got leprosy.’

“Not where it counts,” he answers sweetly, and Brenna makes a noise of disgust and ignores him for the rest of the afternoon.

Kylo’s waiting for him outside the museum, perched on a bike rack and eating a street vendor pretzel. Hux ignores the urge to ask him how he’s doing, and instead takes him shopping again - they will, regrettably, need to be wearing suits for the party.

“Can we go skating?” Kylo asks as they pass Rockefeller, and Hux snorts.

“Have you ever been?” he asks, and Kylo shakes his head. “I don’t need you too bruised to walk tomorrow, thank you. We’ve plans, if you’ll recall.” He shakes the shopping bag in his hand demonstratively. Kylo nods, but he still looks wistful; after a moment, Hux relents with a sigh. “Before we leave, perhaps. _After_ the party.”

He does, however, let himself get talked into a trip to the Met museum, followed by the Guggenheim. Apparently Kylo likes art. Unsurprising, he supposes, for a philosophy major. In any case, it’s been a long while since Hux bothered to visit such places himself, and he’s surprised to find he actually mostly enjoys the experience.

It’s not until they’re back at his parents home, safely in his old room and closed away from the rest of the world, that Hux lets himself ask. Not overtly, and certainly not a demand, because for all of his curiosity and their ease together the past few days Kylo is, after all, practically a stranger to him, and owes him nothing.

But he lets himself reach out, as they’re both getting ready for bed; stretches out his hand over the distance between them and touches the tips of his fingers lightly to Kylo’s shoulder, traces the words there: _Semper Fidelis_.

He can feel the tension, then, in Kylo’s spine. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, gently, as soft as he knows how to be. Which, admittedly, isn’t very - but perhaps it’s enough, because it makes Kylo relax a bit, huff out his breath on a sigh and sit himself down on the edge of the bed. Hux sits beside him, and waits.

“I mean, so as you can imagine,” Kylo starts, already sounding weary, “I was a fuckup as a kid. Broke shit, screaming matches with my parents, ran away a lot. I didn’t do so well in school, and that got my mom yelling about what the fuck I was going to do with my life.” He pauses, and rubs a hand over his face. “It didn’t help that I didn’t really know, either, so whenever she’d get mad about it I’d just kinda shut down.”

“Which made her angrier, I’m sure,” Hux supplies, thinking of the way his own father would react to Hux’s silence.

Kylo smiles at him a little. “Yeah. She thought it meant I just didn’t care or was ignoring her or whatever. So anyway the recruiters came around and it just seemed like… this was it, this was the answer I’d been waiting on. I could do something good, make a career, make…” _Make his parents proud_ would undoubtedly be the end of that sentence, but Kylo trails off into a shrug rather than voicing it. “So I signed up and I shipped out.”

Hux thinks of the boy from the photograph, hair cropped short enough to expose his ridiculous ears, no fringe to help hide the vulnerability in his eyes. He’d’ve been eaten alive, Hux thinks, but doesn’t say.

“I did really well,” Kylo continues, possibly guessing where Hux’s thoughts had been headed, “I mean, I really felt like I’d figured it out, the thing I was supposed to be doing the whole time. I was _good_ at it.” He gets quiet again, staring at his hands. “I was good at - killing people, at not caring that they were mostly just fucked-up kids like me. All of us were kids, really, trying to work our shit out the only way that we could find, or - some of the guys, they were just trying to make their family’s lives easier, you know? But it wasn’t… There weren’t any answers. Just blood. Sand, and blood.”

He scrubs at his eyes, heaves a shuddery sigh. “Anyway,” he says, and when Hux reaches over for his hand Kylo lets him, twists their fingers together and holds tight. “I was lucky, really, I mean, I got out with all my limbs, even the nightmares aren’t too bad. But some of those kids, they were struggling and dying for this fucking pipe dream, this idea that they could make something afterwards, that they could provide for their parents, go to college, whatever, and it’s fucked because that’s exactly what they were sold on, that’s how the recruiters got them to sign up, it’s like a fucking _con_ -” Hux makes an involuntary wincing noise when Kylo’s grip tightens a bit too much, and Kylo drops his hand immediately. “Fuck, sorry, shit -”

“It’s fine,” Hux says, flexing his hand a bit. “Merely unexpected.” He watches Kylo a moment, not quite wary; he’s fairly confident that Kylo wouldn’t lash out at him, but he’s much less certain that Kylo won’t start crying or something equally drastic. “You’re very angry,” he observes after a moment.

“Anyone who isn’t angry isn’t paying enough attention,” Kylo retorts immediately, venom in each word. And just as quickly he sighs again, buries his face in his hands. “Sorry,” he says, muffled. “Just - people don’t fucking see, and it just keeps - _happening_ , and.” He rubs the back of his neck, hand drifting from there to his shoulder to touch the tattoo. He’d never be able to see it properly, Hux thinks, it’s in too awkward a spot. Perhaps that was the point.

Hux reaches out as well, touches the inked words again. “So you got this… when you signed up, I take it? Or once you’d already shipped out?”

Kylo shakes his head, finally looks up to meet Hux’s eyes. There’s sorrow there, but thankfully no tears. “I got it when I got home. To remind myself what I’m fighting for. A promise.” _Semper fidelis_ , Hux thinks; _Always faithful_. “It was worst when I first got back. Everything was raw, so fresh in my mind, so -” He stops himself there, shakes his head a bit, and Hux manages to rein in the impulse to shake the rest of the story out of him.

Instead Kylo stands, paces, rubs his hand over his face again and again and finally stops in front of Hux with a sigh. “We should go to bed,” he says.

Hux vehemently disagrees, fully invested at this point in knowing the rest of Kylo’s story, but instead of arguing he simply nods and reaches over to switch off the bedside light.

The quiet of the darkness is tense, naturally, neither of them anywhere near sleep and both of them fully aware.

He’s drifting, not quite asleep but somewhere between, when Kylo finally speaks again, softly, almost as if he hopes Hux doesn’t hear him. “Do you remember… a few years ago. The explosion on the Embarcadero?”

Hux rolls onto his side to look at him, but Kylo is staring resolutely at the ceiling. “It was rather difficult to miss,” he says, his own voice low, and Kylo makes a sound that’s probably a laugh and covers his face with both hands.

“That was me,” he says, muffled, and then moves his hands away to look Hux in the face. “Us. The - people I used to work with. After I got back, there was -” He stops himself, shakes his head a little. “We wanted to send a message, to get people’s attention. But it was still a bunch of stupid fucking kids, following some old man who saw us as weapons. None of us mattered, nothing we did ever mattered.”

Kylo falls quiet again, looks away. Hux thinks he can see the glimmer of tears in his lashes, and is grateful it’s too dark to be certain. He finds he can’t quite look away, though, riveted by the play of shadows over skin even as his mind wanders and processes.

“Well,” he says at last, and Kylo looks up at him (definitely tears, Hux thinks). “It was inefficient to target a public area. I understand the symbolic meaning behind it, naturally, but in order to effect real change you’d need to hit the power where it sits.” He mulls this over a moment as Kylo blinks at him. “Something with some form of financial impact should do, I’d think.”

In the darkness Kylo’s eyes are black, wide and shining, and he moves with a swiftness that wouldn’t be expected from the size of him. Hux barely has time to be startled before he finds himself pinned to the mattress, both wrists captured in Kylo’s hands as Kylo swoops in to kiss the breath out of him.

“You’re -” Kylo starts, then shakes his head and kisses him again, urgently, desperately, as if there’s something he’s trying to say but can’t. When he breaks away he asks, breathless, “Can I fuck you?” and Hux is already nodding.

“Obviously, yes, what a ridiculous question.” He squirms away to rummage in his bedside drawer, refusing to be distracted by the warmth of Kylo’s hands wrapping around his hips, and finally manages to produce a bottle and drop it onto Kylo’s lap.

Where it gets frowned at, because Kylo is impossible. “This says it’s hand sanitizer.”

“Yes,” Hux snaps impatiently, and picks the bottle up again, flicks open the cap to pour some into Kylo’s hand, “because everyone in this house is a god-awful snoop and I enjoy my privacy. Are you going to argue with me or are you going to fuck me?”

Kylo gives him an obnoxious smartass grin. “I can multitask.” Really, Hux would slap him if he wasn’t so busy being kissed.

He settles himself back in the pillows, watches Kylo spreading the lube over his fingers - getting it warm, which Hux certainly appreciates. It’s been some time, not that he intends to mention that. Kylo’s hands are - _large_ , he can’t help but notice; it isn’t news, but it’s certainly something he hadn’t given much thought in this particular context previously.

“Tell me if this is okay,” Kylo says, and Hux rolls his eyes, puts his feet flat on the bed to leave himself exposed and relishes the stunned look it leaves on Kylo’s face. “Fuck, you’re _so_ -” Kylo shakes his head, kisses the inside of Hux’s knee as he presses a finger to his hole.

 _Big_ , Hux thinks inanely, instinctively sprawling his legs a little wider. It’s not painful, just - strange, his body adjusting as if thinking _oh, yes, I remember this_. “Two,” he orders, though he’s not really ready for it, his mind already jumping ahead to the memory of just how much he truly enjoys this.

Kylo glances up at him, mouth open a bit, but whether in awe or protest is irrelevant because he does as he’s told, stretching Hux open with a second finger, twisting carefully and making Hux gasp and arch. Oh, _fuck_ yes, but his body remembers this, and he hooks a heel over Kylo’s shoulder to draw him closer, encourage him on.

He doesn’t seem to need any guidance, though, spreading his fingers at first to stretch Hux a bit but quickly settling into simply fucking him with them, teasing in and out slowly and watching Hux with avid hunger. “It’s good?” he asks, completely inanely, but Hux nods anyway.

“Yes, it’s - _fuck_ ,” he gasps as Kylo’s fingertips brush over his prostate, then seek it out again to rub. “Oh, fuck, oh -” He tangles a hand in Kylo’s hair, undoubtedly yanking too hard though he hears no complaint. Hux bites hard at his own lip to keep himself from saying anything ridiculous, but he can’t help the way his hips move, fucking himself down onto Kylo’s fingers in search of more. He manages to get enough breath to demand, “Another,” and moans embarrassingly loudly when Kylo immediately complies, a third finger stretching him further, flying too high now to notice any pain.

“You really like this,” Kylo says, sounding awed, and Hux can’t properly respond to that except by slapping the back of Kylo’s head, which doesn’t seem to deter him in the slightest. He curls all three fingers, rubbing in torturous circles that make Hux gasp, covering his face in both hands to smother the pathetic animal noises he’s making. It takes a moment for Kylo’s words to reach him: “Can you come from this?”

Hux takes solace in the fact that his whimper probably wasn’t audible from behind his hands. “Not as easily as I’d come if you’d _fuck me already_ ,” he says, his best attempt to sound scathing instead of needy, and bites back a moan when Kylo slips his fingers out.

Kylo kisses him again, and Hux throws himself into it, twines both arms around his shoulders to keep him close. “Condom?” Kylo murmurs against his lips, and Hux shakes his head.

“Don’t care.” He will later, he’s sure, he’ll hate himself for it, but here and now - “Just fuck me, just -”

“Okay,” Kylo says, “yeah. That’s - fuck, alright.” He sits back a bit, slicks himself - his _ridiculously_ large prick, fuck, _yes_ \- and slides his free hand around Hux’s hip, lifts him a bit, so easily, god, _fuck_ , he’s so _disgustingly fit_ \- presses the head of his cock to Hux’s hole, gasping as he watches himself slip into Hux’s body.

It’s a stretch, still, to take him, and Hux moans, drops his head back into the pillows and gasps for breath. “Fuck,” Kylo’s saying, nearly chanting under his breath, “oh fuck, fuck, you’re so beautiful, god, you’re _tight_ ,” and he pauses a moment, runs his hands up and down Hux’s sides soothingly as he adjusts, makes little shushing noises and bumps his nose under Hux’s chin, kisses his throat, between his collarbones, nips at the crook of his neck.

Hux shudders, moans again at the way that makes his body move and clench around Kylo’s cock inside him. “More,” he says, breathless, and kisses Kylo when he looks hesitant, wraps his legs around Kylo’s waist to urge him forward, and they’re moaning into each other’s mouths as Kylo slides inside of him, the both of them gasping as he bottoms out.

“Okay?” Kylo asks, and Hux can’t even be bothered to hit him this time, too busy rolling his hips up into Kylo’s, trying to find the angle he wants.

Fuck it, he thinks, and twists, using the leverage of his legs around Kylo’s hips to get him onto his back so that Hux can straddle his hips. “Ah, _fuck_!” he cries out, squirming in Kylo’s lap at the way the change in position makes him feel even more impossibly full.

Beneath him, Kylo’s saying, “Holy fuck, oh my fucking - this, are you-?” His hands are tight on Hux’s hips, undoubtedly going to leave him with bruises, and he looks so stunned that Hux would laugh if he had the breath to spare.

Instead he bends over, carefully, moaning at every movement, to kiss Kylo’s slack lips. “Okay,” he answers, and grins at the noise Kylo makes.

And then he straightens up again, leans back with his hands braced on Kylo’s beautifully muscled thighs to fuck himself on Kylo’s cock.

Almost immediately, he’s much too close; lost in it, grinding himself down to chase his pleasure, muscles he hasn’t used in far too long protesting the sudden attention. “Oh, fuck,” he says - sobs - and grabs at one of Kylo’s hands to move it to his prick, “oh, fuck, _yes_ , Kylo, that’s -”

Kylo’s hand moves at counterpoint to Hux’s hips, so that every time he slides up from Kylo’s cock he’s pushing into his fist, and then Kylo makes a pathetic noise, nearly a mewl, and starts fucking up into him, hand on Hux’s hip pushing him down to meet his thrusts.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hux shouts, slaps a hand over his own mouth to muffle his cries as he gets close. “Fuck, oh fuck, Kylo, y- ah!” 

He comes all over Kylo’s chest, shuddering through it, still fucking into his fist as he gasps and moans. He’s still reeling when Kylo flips them over again, pins him to the mattress with a hand still tight on his hip and starts fucking him in earnest.

Hux brings both of his hands to his mouth, muscles going lax and hopelessly overstimulated even as he can’t seem to stop making the most pathetic noises of his life. He’s distantly aware that Kylo’s saying something - his name, interspersed with liberal swearing - but he’s too gone to tune in properly, only aware that Kylo’s going to come inside of him, that - it’s, god, so filthy, he hates it, he wants it -

When Kylo climaxes, Hux shudders again, sympathetic aftershocks making him arch and moan, shocked to find that he’s aware of the feeling of come slipping out of him, of Kylo pushing it deeper into him when he thrusts back in again. “Oh my god,” he says, muffled by his own hands which he’d forgotten he even had over his mouth - but that’s good, that means only he needs to know the idiot thoughts falling out of his head right now. “God, oh fuck, that’s so disgusting, that’s -”

Kylo pulls his hands away to kiss him, passionate even as he’s still panting raggedly, holding Hux’s face between his hands as though he’s something to be protected.

Hux is flying, too gone to think anymore; Kylo says something, but it’s far away, and it’s easier to just let himself melt into the mattress. He thinks he hears Kylo laugh, and then he’s gone a moment, and back again; careful hands and a warm cloth making him at least a bit less of a mess. He hums a little, appreciative, and pats at Kylo’s head, gets a kiss to his hip for his effort.

“That,” Hux manages a little while later, tucked up against Kylo’s chest and safely away from the wet spot on the mattress, “was quite possibly the best sex of my life.”

“Oh,” Kylo says, which isn’t the most encouraging answer, but a moment later he adds, “I was hoping it wasn’t just me.”

“Hmm-mm,” Hux says - mumbles - a sleepy negation, and he nuzzles up closer under Kylo’s chin.

As he’s drifting off, he thinks he might hear Kylo say, “We should try it again sometime,” but he might already be dreaming.


	7. Chapter 7

His mother’s Christmas events have been a fixture in New York society life for as long as Hux can recall. She likes to paint herself as a charitable entrepreneur, using her success to help those in need - though, naturally, without ever having to interact with them herself.

It’s the sort of ridiculous, ‘exclusive’ event Hux generally prefers to avoid, honestly. Ballgowns and tuxedos aren’t out of place in the crowd, and everyone is doing their best to look comfortable and aloof while simultaneously being sure to be seen.

Hux, meanwhile, is wearing his newly-acquired red Converse with his suit, and Kylo has cuffed the sleeves of his jacket and left the top buttons of his shirt undone to better display his tattoos. His long hair is untamed, mussed from Hux’s hands. If the goal is to be seen, he thinks, smiling at the stares they’re receiving, then he and Kylo are succeeding admirably. Though his mother is doing her best to ignore them.

“Hux!” someone calls at a volume which is absolutely gauche in this setting, and he turns to see his friend Taryn waving at him from across the room. There’s already a drink in her hand, he notices, and suppresses a smile. He can spot the instant she properly takes in Kylo, enjoys the way her eyebrows pop up in surprise before settling down into suspicion. “A friend?” she asks, once they’re near enough.

“Taryn, this is Kylo; Kylo, Taryn. And Alyssa, Leo, Adrian, and Yva,” he adds as they join in. And then, for good measure, he adds, “Play nice,” because he can see the way they’re all looking at Kylo.

Kylo, naturally, doesn’t seem to notice or care, obviously already aware that he’ll be an object of discussion for the evening. He drapes a casual arm around Hux’s shoulders, much to the ill-concealed delight of Hux’s friends. “So is this what slumming it in California will get you, then?” Adrian asks. “Because I can’t help but think that slumming it in the East Village would’ve garnered similar results with significantly less hassle.”

Taryn laughs, and Hux sighs. Why is he so prone to choosing such rubbish friends?

He steers the conversation away from his own misadventures, letting them all gossip instead about the various petty dramas he’s missed in his time on the west coast. Kylo seems to listen with interest occasionally, though he’s quiet for the most part, surly expression firmly in place.

“Of course,” Alyssa says as she wraps up the story of a mutual frenemy’s fall from grace, “no one’s quite managed to attain the level of scandal reached by our own dear Hux.” His friends - bastards, all of them - give him a mocking little round of applause that leaves him rolling his eyes. Kylo’s watching them curiously, though thankfully he’s enough sense not to ask.

“Really, Hux, I can’t believe your father -"

Kylo interrupts, talking over whatever Adrian was about to say as if he hadn’t even heard him. “Do you want to dance?”

Hux stares at him a moment, then glances at the dance floor. True, there are people dancing: a sedate, formal waltz to the string quartet’s rendition of Silent Night. It doesn’t look like anything he intends to have any part in, and it’s certainly not something he’d expect of Kylo, either.

It seems his friends agree, from the way they’re goggling. “Do _you_ want to dance?” Taryn finally asks in obvious disbelief, and Kylo answers with a shrug, which seems to stump her. “Well,” she starts, stops, seems to rally. “Well you’ll never get Tybalt out there, could you imagine his mother’s face -”

Oh.

Yes.

Hux grins, for once not caring if it makes him look sweet instead of scheming. “You know,” he says, and tucks his arm around Kylo’s waist, “I think that’s actually an excellent idea.”

Kylo smiles, gives the group a little wave of farewell as he lets himself be led away.

Somewhat to Hux’s surprise, once they’re on the floor Kylo keeps an arm around his shoulders, taking Hux’s other hand in his own, and allows him to lead.

To his utter _shock_ , however, Kylo is actually a more than passable dancer.

“What on earth,” he says, low, not really a question but Kylo laughs and answers just the same.

“Mom never would’ve let me be an embarrassment at any kind of event,” he explains, wry but not particularly bitter. “I had lessons. And when I came out, she made sure those lessons took into consideration the idea that I might be the one following.” He pauses, ducks his head a bit to partly obscure his smile. “She was alright sometimes.”

And now Hux gets to reap the benefit. How unexpectedly fortuitous.

Despite themselves, he thinks, they probably even look rather elegant. Kylo is surprisingly graceful, despite his size, and they fit well together, near enough in height that being cheek to cheek is almost… comfortable.

“I left,” he says suddenly, blurts the confession out before he’s really thought it through - but, well, Kylo’s been sharing his own secrets, so perhaps it’s only fair. “That was the scandal. Not because - coming out certainly didn’t _help_ my relationship with my father, but that was years ago.” Kylo’s pulled away enough to look him in the eye, attentive, encouraging, and Hux continues, “I realised I’d never be what they wanted, and I didn’t want to live like that anymore. I don’t think Father will ever forgive me, really.”

Kylo loosens his hold on Hux’s shoulders enough to settle a hand at the back of his neck, an oddly reassuring weight. “For leaving?”

Hux laughs a little at that. “For succeeding. For not having to crawl home in disgrace.” He’s still smug about it, he’ll admit; proud beyond reason that he’d managed to make a life of his own. “In any case, it made for quite the sensational story amongst my friends, as you may have gathered. I think they half-expected to see me with a ponytail and a beard.”

“Hm.” Kylo leans in again, brushes his nose along Hux’s jaw. “I don’t know. You’d look pretty good with a beard.”

“Oh, shut up,” Hux says, nearly fond despite himself.

People are watching them, he notices; Taryn’s taking photos with her phone, Brenna’s looking at him like he’s an idiot. His mother’s nowhere to be seen, possibly having the vapours in some quiet corner.

Kylo hums in his ear, low, drawing Hux’s attention back to where it belongs. He’s humming to the music, he notices after a moment, just before Kylo starts singing along softly, inaudible if he weren’t so near. _What are you doing New Year’s Eve?_ His lips brush Hux’s ear, then his cheek, and Hux turns his head enough to catch Kylo’s lips with his own.

He doesn’t realise that they’ve stopped dancing until another couple bumps into them, presumably accidentally. They jump apart, Hux’s immediate flush no doubt appallingly obvious as he clears his throat. “Drinks, I think.”

Even with a chilled glass of champagne in his hand, he can still feel the heat in his cheeks. Kylo’s watching him, intent as ever, and Hux feels a bit as though he’s having trouble getting enough air. Which is ridiculous, impossible, and foolish, and he banishes the thought immediately, embarrassed to have had it in the first place.

“So is that the charity we’re meant to be benefitting?” he hears from behind him, and scowls. It isn’t near enough to have been directed at him - at either of them - but the fact that it’s loud enough to be overheard was no doubt intentional.

Another idiot answers, “Either that or someone’s bastard son merited an invite, I suppose,” and Hux starts to turn with a snarl before he’s stopped by a hand on his own.

Kylo’s smiling, though only slightly, and it does nothing to stop Hux’s fuming. “This was the plan, right?” Kylo says, and damn him anyway. “Besides, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Hux’s glowering doesn’t abate in the slightest, and he slams back the rest of his drink in one go. “The plan was to force my parents to deal with _you_ , not to subject -” He stops himself on an irritated huff, takes Kylo’s drink from him to polish that off as well. Soda water again. There’s no reason to be fuming, he thinks, and manages to breathe normally for all of about sixty seconds, until he hears ‘ _What was he thinking_ ’ from yet another voice.

“I’m going to get you another drink,” Kylo says, sounding really unfairly amused, and takes both of the empty glasses from Hux’s hands. “Don’t kill anyone.”

“I make no promises,” he mutters, and glares indiscriminately at the people around him.

He’s left to himself for two entire minutes before they swoop in. “Daniel. William.” His voice is emotionless, resigned; naturally they’d be here. Naturally they’d spot the moment he was alone.

William’s practically pouting as he reaches out to touch Hux’s cheek. “Tybalt, my dear, what on earth have you reduced yourself to? Surely you had other options available, with all of your ingenuity.”

“Such a disgraceful display,” Daniel adds with a sorrowful tsking. “The pleasure of your company must be worth more than whatever that sort of person could afford.” Hux lets himself sigh, even knowing how such an overt display of distaste will spur them on, and Daniel’s eyes narrow. “I mean, darling, surely you’re capable of pulling in a higher calibre of clientele. You’re still quite fetching, you know.”

“Oh, yes,” William agrees, “the lighting in here is terribly flattering for you. It makes you look positively youthful.”

Honestly, it isn’t even anything terribly original. He supposes they must be out of practice without him around.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, however, Kylo returns just in time to catch enough of the conversation to make him angry. “I think you should both shut the fuck up and walk away,” he says, somehow making his voice even lower than usual. William, because he is an idiot, looks Kylo over dismissively.

“I’m fine,” Hux tells him quietly before things can get out of hand. “They’re not of any particular interest.”

Daniel makes the mistake of reaching out, putting a mock-friendly hand around Hux’s shoulder. “Yes, nothing you need concern yourself with. Just some old friend, catching up.” Kylo’s looking about half a minute from homicide; he reaches out to take Daniel’s wrist and forcibly remove his hand from Hux.

“Walk away,” Kylo repeats, but some of the tension in his shoulders dissipates as Hux brushes the back of his hand against Kylo’s arm. “Don’t touch him again,” he says, directly to Daniel this time -

\- and William, because he is an idiot, reaches out deliberately to shove Hux back, separating him from Kylo. “It’s none of your _concern_ , dear boy. Do move along.” And then, presumably because he’s already had a few too many drinks, he reaches out to push Kylo, too.

Kylo moves swiftly, hitting William in the solar plexus before Hux has a chance to realise what’s happening. It knocks the wind out of him immediately, and once he’s doubled over Kylo hits him between the shoulders with his elbow, sending him sprawling. Hux is still gaping at the blur of movement, piecing it together, when Daniel pushes him aside and catches Kylo with a fairly solid punch to the face. There’s blood, Hux realises distantly, and he’s dragging Daniel’s arms back without any thought beyond that.

People around them are shrieking, shocked (and, knowing this crowd as he does, undoubtedly delighted) by the violence. Hux ignores them, intent on pulling Kylo away, leading him out of the ballroom with an iron grip on his wrist.

Once or twice, Kylo says Hux’s name, presumably intending to follow with some sort of idiocy. “Shut up,” Hux answers, clipped, and takes him through one of the service corridors, out to another section of the ballroom which isn’t being used for the evening, and into an empty restroom.

He’s scowling as he pushes Kylo to sit on the edge of the counter; he can’t help but catch sight of his own reflection, a high flush of colour in each cheek and absolute murder in his eyes.

There’s blood on Kylo’s chin, on his shirt, dripping from his already-swollen nose. “Shut up,” he says once more, preemptively, when it looks like Kylo’s about to open his stupid mouth. He wets a towel, uses an ungentle push to Kylo’s forehead to tilt his head back so that he can clean his idiot nose. “They’re ridiculous and always have been,” he says without preamble, “I’ve humiliated them one too many times and they saw an opportunity to get some of their own back. And _you’re_ the one who said it doesn’t matter what people are saying, anyway.”

“They were rude to you,” Kylo mutters, jaw set and stubborn, and Hux snorts dismissively.

“I’ve been rude to them far more often, i assure you, and I’m perfectly capable of handling myself in any case. Not to mention that now you’re _bleeding_ , which was not a problem either of us had been having this evening until now.”

Kylo tips his head enough to look Hux in the eye. “It was worth it,” he says, sullenly earnest as ever, as full of conviction as if he were pledging an oath.

It’s ridiculous and embarrassing, the way Hux’s stomach swoops in response. “Well,” he answers, and then stops. He can feel himself blushing again, hates himself for it, makes himself focus on checking Kylo’s nose to be certain it isn’t broken.

“I mean it.” Kylo’s voice is softer now, his eyes are softer, and he takes Hux’s wrists in his hands and pulls them away from his face.

Hux thinks perhaps he says something then, maybe just “Oh,” very quietly, but it hardly matters. Kylo pulls him closer, lets go of his wrists to put his hands on either side of Hux’s face, and pulls him into a kiss.

The passion behind it is unmistakable, Kylo clearly trying to make his point without words, but he breaks away swearing almost immediately. Hux blinks for a moment, thrown, and then notices the way Kylo is touching his own nose: not broken, perhaps, but clearly at least sore.

He laughs, and Kylo starts to glare but drops his gaze to Hux’s lips, pulls him in again more carefully this time. Hux lets himself be kissed, loses himself in it the way he had when they’d been dancing.

“Come out with me for real,” Kylo says, so soft against his lips it’s barely a whisper, “when we’re back home. Let me take you to dinner, give me a real chance.”

“Yes,” Hux says, and kisses him again for good measure. “That would be - good. Yes. Alright.” And he shuts himself up by kissing Kylo once more, before either of them can say anything else ridiculous.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning’s Hux family breakfast is an incredibly strained, nearly silent affair, with both the Commandant and Alexandra doing their best to keep from acknowledging Hux or Kylo in the slightest. Only Brenna has anything to say to them, though even she limits herself to “Well, I hope you’re happy with yourself,” and “Pass the salt, Ty, you’ve not even used it.”

It hadn’t really been the fight that had pushed them over, Hux thinks, so much as Kylo’s elaborately-staged proposal when they’d finally returned to the party. He’d used one of his own rings - much too large on Hux’s fingers, though it will at least stay in place on his thumb - and dropped to one knee in the middle of the dance floor.

Hux can’t entirely remember the specifics, but he does remember ‘ _You are my sun and stars_ ’ as a particularly good line.

His own joyful acceptance had apparently been believable enough, at least to judge by the reactions of the crowd and, of course, his parents. A glance at Kylo has the both of them grinning, Hux biting his lip to stifle the urge to laugh. An extraordinarily successful holiday, all around.

“And a happy new year,” Hux calls to the house as he and Kylo bring their bags down to the door.

A deafening silence is his only answer, and Hux lets himself snicker at last. “We need to stop at the Milk Bar and get Phasma a cake. Possibly two of them.”

Kylo’s watching him, amused, and Hux lets himself steal a kiss before they bundle up once more.

“You really are ridiculous,” Brenna says from behind him, and Hux rolls his eyes, hands his bag off to Kylo to bring out to the cab. He turns once Kylo is gone, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “Well, honestly, Ty. You could’ve been more subtle.” She huffs when Hux stays silent, tosses her hair back over her shoulder. “Obviously you were just trying to get a rise out of Mother. And it worked, I’ll grant you, but really. She’ll catch on soon enough.”

Hux’s silence this time is less of a ploy to annoy her and more an actual loss of words; he can only stare, wondering how long she’s known, wondering if it’s really been that - 

“I mean,” she continues, grabbing his wrist to yank his hand up between them, Kylo’s ring still absurdly prominent around his own thumb, “as if we’re meant to believe you’d accept such an obviously spontaneous proposal?” She snorts dismissively, drops his hand as though it’s offended her. “You could’ve at least bribed the band to play something romantic, made it a _bit_ convincing.”

He laughs, partly from relief but largely because of _course_ she’d critique his staged romantic gesture, nevermind that it had been entirely Kylo’s own idea. “Perhaps we’ll do up an invitation, just to get her blood boiling again.”

“A save the date first,” Brenna says severely, “honestly, Ty, if you intend to try subterfuge -”

“I’ll leave it to the master,” he answers, and finds he’s nearly smiling as he brushes an almost-kiss to her cheek. “Or mistress, as it were.”

Brenna hmfs at him, and pushes him away. “Don’t hurry back,” she says, and opens the door.

Kylo’s waiting by the cab, bundled up in his new winter wear as if he’s planning to go skiing. He grins at them when he sees Hux, and waves to Brenna - who, to Hux’s utter shock, actually waves back.

“Well,” Brenna says, only slightly begrudgingly, “you do seem happy.”

“Yes,” Hux agrees, smiling at Kylo as he steps outside, “I think I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> equal measures of love and spite to Alley for dragging me into this hell, cheerleading, helping, and generally not giving up on my slacker ass <3
> 
> find me on tumblr at [withthingsunreal](http://withthingsunreal.tumblr.com)


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